So my friend Megan calls me up and says she’s found a restaurant called Barbecue House, and do I want to go? Now, I had already decided to stay in for the night since I was exhausted, and I’d even decided to skip a free music concert in the old medina. But surely, a place called Barbecue House would have buffalo wings, right? Or at the very least, BBQ chicken or something?
So it takes us a half hour to get a cab for some insane reason. They all just keep driving past us. Finally, we get one, but he gets mad at us when we start giving directions like “I think it’s down this street….” Finally, we arrive. I should have known something was amiss when I spotted the goon at the door. Or the fact that the door had mirrored tinting on it so that you couldn’t see in.
So i push the door open and walk in. If this was a bar in the south, the music would have stopped. But instead, everyone just looked up at us. One guy reached in his pocket and put something on the table (my guess: a knife.) The air was thick with nargila smoke. I blurted out to the bartender “Wash andek l-makla?” And he replied that no, actually, they don’t serve food. We ended up going to get pizza and I stopped by the beer store to get, gag, a couple of Flag Pilsners afterwards.
So basically, my hopes for buffalo wingery were once again expertly dashed. Oh Buffalo Wings, how I miss thee.